Tag Archives: writing

Coming Soon

25 Oct

After a long hiatus during which I have been engaged in various endeavors, I have decided to turn my attention back to Stroke Happens: A Caretaker’s Memoir, which chronicles the story of my husband’s stroke and my transformation into his caretaker. I am preparing the final draft to publish on Amazon within the next month, after recently realizing that I still want to share our story.

I took a long break from Stroke Happens after I finished the last draft and started trying to find a publisher. I queried at least 30; each time, I got a form rejection letter or no response. Finally, some nice editor actually took the time to write and tell me that, in all likelihood, no one would look at it unless I had a literary agent. I wondered, then, “Why do these publishers have submission guidelines on their websites if they weren’t even going to look at submissions?” (I still don’t have an answer.)

I had grown so frustrated by that time that I put down Stroke Happens and began exploring other creative (and money-making) avenues. I have been growing my dog-training business; writing a series of articles for South Carolina Wildlife Federation; working as a part-time writer for Clemson University; and, of course, continuing to care for my husband.

Although I have always had reservations about self-publishing, I realized I have nothing to prove, having already had a book published: The Chattooga River: A Natural and Cultural History (The History Press 2013, which can be purchased on Amazon). I started revising, yet again, and plan to have it up by November 22.

Stroke Happens will describe the journey of my husband and myself after he suffered a massive stroke in 2007, at the age of 56, and how we coped with the challenges that followed. I hope anyone who reads this blog, especially if you have been affected by stroke, will read it. It is a story of hope, recovery, acceptance, love, friendship, and much more.

Until then, I will be posting on this blog whenever time permits. Stay tuned for further developments! And thank you for reading.

Advertisements

Stroke Happens?

6 Feb

 

I’ve just completed what I hope is the final draft of my manuscript of Stroke Happens: A Caretaker’s Story, which differs greatly from the first attempt. A former professor has looked at it and thinks it’s ready for a publisher and/or literary agent. I’ve submitted it, in this and a former version, to dozens of publishers and either received rejections or no answer. I’ve registered for a writer’s conference in Atlanta, where I will have 15 minutes with a publisher, who will look at the first few chapters; and an agent, who will read my proposal. I’ve blogging again and I plan to create a Facebook page to publicize it. Still, I have more to do! I need to write articles and give presentations and/or interviews, all a part of building a platform. I didn’t know it was going to be this much work, or I might not have started. But that’s not true. When I began writing Stroke Happens, the words gushed out of me; I had no choice. I started writing and didn’t stop for three months. Every day, I sat feverishly in front of the computer and tip-tapped away at the keys until I had about 30,000 words. Then no publisher wanted it, so I filed it away.

Three years later, and a move back to Pendleton, I get an offer to write a different book. I wasn’t as intimidated as I might have been, since I already had written 30,000 words and knew about how long it would take and that I could do it. So now I have a book, The Chattooga River: A Natural and Cultural History. I thought it might impress someone in the publishing world. No.

I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Stroke Happens.

Moving On

24 Nov

    The other day I announced to my email list that I had started a blog. I received a message from a friend congratulating me on my “blob.” I laughed, but when I sat down to write today, I froze. I couldn’t decide what to write about. I felt like a blob, indeed, hands poised over the keyboard, waiting for the words to come. I felt I needed to write about Chuck’s stroke, therapy, recovery or how I coped with it. But I didn’t feel moved, so I pondered on it for a while. I think I understand, now.

     When Chuck had a stroke, it took over my life. However, six years have passed, and I have moved on. It’s now hard to recall much of the experience or my feelings during that time. The stress of that time blurred my memory of events. So how to proceed? Maybe this post should relate how I moved on, because I do remember a time when I thought I never would be able to. I was every bit a victim of stroke, albeit in a different way, as Chuck. While I would not describe myself as “happy,” exactly, I have found a level of contentment and fulfillment I never thought possible. Maybe I should describe how I got there.

     The first step, obviously, was to get through the crisis itself. Next was to get Chuck what he needed in terms of continued therapy, which absorbed most of my energy for the first year and was driven in part by my desire for his complete recovery. When I realized that was not possible, I then had to accept it, which was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I had to let go of the idea of Chuck as he was before the stroke, a very painful process because that was the prize I had been reaching toward, the finish line that had kept me in the race.

      I spent the next couple of years avoiding reality by moving, twice. We left our small town to move a small city, and then back again. I missed having access to my form of therapy: hiking in the woods, swimming in the lake, walking in the country. However, during our sojourn to the city I received some gifts I would not have otherwise. The first was yoga. The second was being able to be present for a dying friend. The last was rediscovering my love of writing, which has helped me redefine my identity. I started writing again, and five years later I wrote a book. I have a manuscript in progress and an idea for the next project simmering on the back burner.

     My point is that I had to actively seek contentment and fulfillment, not wait for them to find me. For a time, I lost myself in the role of caretaker and as a victim, ultimately not enough for me. I had to find myself, or more specifically the self I had become, and merge it with my new role as Chuck’s caretaker. The act of writing, or finding my voice, enabled me to move on while remaining in place.

    

%d bloggers like this: